


Stranger Things Have Happened

by violasarecool



Series: What Can 8 Grey Wardens Do? [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Dragon Age Quest: The Arl of Redcliffe, Gen, M/M, Redcliffe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5972832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violasarecool/pseuds/violasarecool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>while travelling to Redcliffe, Quentin and his party run into a stranger who's very good with a pair of swords. they agree to a brief alliance that may end up lasting longer than they expected</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The moon shone bright that evening, its bluish light scattering dark shadows across the empty landscape. A light breeze whistled across the hilly landscape, carrying the scent of freshwater from lake Calenhad.

"We're getting close to Redcliffe, now," Alistair said.

"Good." Quentin yawned. "I hope there's an inn or something in the village, I think this is the furthest we've walked in one day."

"Tired?" Leliana teased.

"A bit," he admitted.

They began ascending a shallow incline, the dirt path giving way to grass. "I, um." Alistair looked at Quentin. "I should tell you something."

"Hm?" Quentin glanced at him, and Alistair dropped his gaze to the ground.

"I haven't been entirely honest―"

"Darkspawn ahead," Leliana called.

"What timing," Alistair muttered. They hurried up to meet her where she stood at the top of the hill, looking down into a small valley.

"Not very many though," she said. "Someone's already fighting them."

Below, a stranger was surrounded by three genlocks, swords flashing in the moonlight. "He seems to be doing ok," Alistair said. The stranger blocked a blow from the genlock on his right, using the momentum to send his sword clean through another's neck, before plunging his other blade into the stomach of the first. The last one took a swing at him with its mace, but he ducked, circling around, and buried his sword in its back.

"Impressive," Zevran said.

"Wait," Leliana said. She pulled her bow from her back, an arrow already in her hand.

"What―" Quentin watched as she fired, saw the arrow sail through the air, far too high to land anywhere near the stranger, soaring well over the stranger's head and over the hill behind him, to bury itself in the chest of a figure Quentin hadn't even noticed. It jerked sideways, crossbow bolt shooting harmlessly into the ground at its feet as the figure toppled off the hilltop, falling almost in slow motion. As it fell, it twisted, moonlight shining... through its body? _That's not darkspawn._ It crashed to the ground, and the stranger looked up sharply, spun around to find the source of the attack. His eyes met theirs.

"Quentin," Wynne said, her hand on his shoulder, and Quentin looked away, followed her gaze.

"Uh oh." Beyond the hill, there was movement, the flashing of moonlight on metal, and suddenly Quentin became aware of a muffled clanking sound that was growing steadily louder.

"My eyes may not be what they used to be, but I think we have more company," Wynne said.

"Lovely," Alistair said, as dozens of skeletal figures spilled into view. The stranger took a step back, swords raised. "Ok, he may be good, but that is a _lot_ of... something. Are those skeletons?"

"Reanimated dead," Quentin said, "yeah."

"Then let us even the odds," Zevran said, grinning.

Adrenaline rushed to wipe out fatigue, and they moved quickly, Quentin, Wynne, and Morrigan falling into position as the others ran towards the oncoming hoard. As Cerberus dashed ahead of them, Sten let out a deafening bellow, and the stranger glanced their way briefly before throwing himself at the approaching enemies.

It was reassuring how well they worked together, Quentin noted, sending bursts of magic into the throng as he watched Sten send his sword through a row of skeletons, Alistair and Cerberus at his side, Leliana and Zevran picking off those at the edges. A larger corpse wielding a mace went running at Leliana, and Wynne shot a burst of light at her that expanded into a shimmering bubble. Quentin snorted as the creature bounced off, crashing to the ground even as the shield faded. Nearby, the stranger kicked aside a skeleton and seized on the moment to plunge his swords into the fallen corpse. He nodded at Leliana before running back toward the throng.

Three or four more skeletons appeared out of the trees, and Zevran circled around, watching their approach as they ran towards Alistair, his back turned to fend off a pair of his own. When the skeletons were no more than yard away, a fireball erupted into the air, speeding towards them and sending them crashing into the side of the hill. Zevran dispatched them before they had time to scramble to their feet. He grinned up at Quentin, who gave him a thumbs up, arms still tingling with the force of the spell.

By the foot of the hill, however, things weren't going as well. In the centre of the fray, Alistair and the stranger were soon forced to fight back to back, skeletons clumping so tightly that Quentin didn't dare direct any spells near them in case it hit either of them. Sten was only faring marginally better, his back against a vertical rockface as he attempted to parry blows from three skeletons at once.

Quentin looked at Wynne desperately. "Any good ideas?"

"Nothing comes to mind," she said. "Just keep going, they _must_ weaken soon."

Morrigan snorted. "No, I tire of this," she said, and she turned around and walked away.

"What?" Quentin turned. "Where are you going?"

"Going?" Morrigan walked a little further, then turned. "Down there," she said, mouth curling with a half smile, "move out of the way." Quentin and Wynne stepped back, and she broke into a run, all the way to the edge of the hill before leaping into the air, staff extended. As she fell, the air around her shimmered, and she began to change, her body expanding rapidly until a huge black mass hit the ground, legs already in motion.

Below, Leliana looked up to see skeletons scatter, momentarily thrown by the appearance of a giant spider. _Nice of you to join us, Morrigan._ She glanced over at the stranger as he took a step back, staring at its enormous girth. "The spider's with us," she said, gleefully noting his horrified expression.

Alistair, on the other hand, was facing the other way when Morrigan arrived, and when he turned to find several giant hairy spider legs scuttling by, he shrieked loudly and nearly lost his balance. He tried to save face by turning it into something of a battle cry. A very high pitched battle cry. Cerberus met the noise with a joyful bark.

The undead fell quickly after that, cut down by many blades or crushed in the Morrigan's giant maw. Quentin picked off a straggler with a blast of fire, then glanced around, checking for others. "I think we're clear," he said to Wynne.

She nodded. "For now. Let's go meet this well-trained young man."

They walked down the hill towards the others, taking in the piles of bones and armour as they approached. The giant spider disappeared, and Morrigan appeared in its place, a self-satisfied smile on her face. "A good fight," she called, as they approached. Behind her, Alistair shuddered, and crouched down to wipe his sword clean on the grass.

"You got a lot of them," Quentin replied.

"Yes, well, firing spells from a distance just doesn't measure up to shapeshifting into something with a little firepower."

"No kidding," the stranger muttered. He stuck one sword in the ground and pulled off his helmet, revealing a slim, tanned face, and pointed elven ears.

Quentin glanced over at him. "Hey, you did really well even on your own, there. I'm Quentin," he said, holding out his hand.

"Fox," the other elf said, shaking it.

Behind them, Sten was walking through the debris, checking to make sure none of the undead were about to start moving again, Cerberus trotting beside him to nose at the corpses. Leliana knelt near a fallen skeleton, and pried an unbroken arrow from its armour. As she did so, however, she used her other hand to covertly retrieve what looked like a letter. Quentin watched, confused, as she stood up, then took a few steps over to Alistair, kneeling beside him to place it in his hand as she whispered something in his ear.

Quentin turned his attention back to the stranger, Fox, who had knelt down to wipe off his swords. "What brings you to this area?" Quentin asked.

"Just passing through," Fox replied with a shrug that was more awkward than casual.

Alistair stood up, and Leliana took a few steps away. "Where did you learn to use a pair of blades like that?" Alistair asked. "Your technique is very good."

Fox didn't look up. "Picked it up here and there."

Zevran leaned over to Quentin. "I do not trust his manner," he breathed into Quentin's ear.

"We could use someone like you around here," Alistair said. "Where do you hail from?"

"Denerim." He sheathed one sword, and began wiping down the other.

Alistair had also finished cleaning off his sword, but still held it lightly in his palm, tip resting against the ground. "Oh? Are you from the alienage?"

The stranger nodded. "Yeah."

"Then you know that the alienage has been closed off for several weeks. No one gets in or out," Alistair said, and now Quentin could hear the threat in his voice, saw muscles tense. Cerberus let out a low growl.

The stranger watched Alistair warily. "No, I didn't. I've been... travelling."

There was subtle movement in Quentin's peripheral vision, and he glanced over at Zevran, saw the dagger in his hand. Off to the side, Leliana crouched, bow in hand, and Wynne and Morrigan stood parallel, staves tipped ever so slightly. Ready to fight, if need be.

"Do you know many Grey Wardens?" Alistair said, his voice low.

"Not in person," the stranger replied.

"So you wouldn't happen to know where _this_ came from," Alistair said, holding up an envelope in his left hand. Imprinted on it was the Grey Warden insignia. The stranger swallowed. "No? Because you're definitely not a Ferelden Warden, seeing as you're in the presence of the last two living Grey Wardens in Ferelden. And the next closest place would be Orlais, which didn't send Wardens when we needed them, so I really don't think they'd send them now." He clenched his right hand on his sword. "So what are you, a scavenger? Or something worse?"

The stranger's brow crumpled, and his mouth twisted almost comedically. "Didn't send―you _rejected_ our offer!"

Alistair frowned. "What?"

He shook his head. "That's not right. We _offered t_ o send Wardens, we were preparing to leave, but word came from _your_ people rejecting our help in some damn show of pride!"

Leliana's bow hand lowered slighty. "You're Orlesian," she said, surprised.

"An Orlesian Warden," Quentin murmured.

"Yeah," Fox said, staring at them, taking in their group. "Kind of."

"Kind of? Why are you travelling alone?" Alistair asked. He glanced around. "...You _are_ alone, aren't you?"

"Yes." Fox rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Look, I didn't expect to run into other Wardens, you can't tell anyone I'm here. I'm supposed to be in Orlais, I could get in deep shit if anyone finds out."

Alistair looked at Quentin, who gave a tiny shrug of his shoulders. "So why did you come here?" Quentin asked.

Fox snorted. "Weird bit of luck. I intercepted news about Ostagar while out on business near the border. I _could_ have gone back to the Warden-Commander, but something seemed... off, about it all. And if we went through all the official routes, the blight could have spread across half of Ferelden before anything even got _decided."_ Fox shook his head. "You would not _believe_ how much paperwork is involved in war."

"I believe it," Alistair said.

"But what do you care if Ferelden has a bit of Blight?" Morrigan asked. "From what I understand, you could stay safely holed up in Orlais for some time yet before the Blight would reach you."

Fox glared at her. "A Blight is _always_ a Grey Warden's concern, no matter where they live." He sighed. "I also have family here, though. I _am_ from Denerim, originally, in the alienage," he said, looking at Alistair. "Why is it closed up?"

"There was rioting," Alistair said. "The arl's son died. From what I hear, the new arl's been trying to restore order."

Fox sucked in a breath. "Shit."

"So if the Wardens don't know you're here, what's the letter?" Alistair asked.

He grimaced. "It's a forgery, though that's the official seal, all right. Meant to draw attention long enough for me to think of something else, if need be."

"That's a bit underhanded of you," Alistair said. "Are you sure you're a Grey Warden?"

"Defeat the darkspawn, no matter the cost?" Fox retorted. "I was conscripted for pulling off something not that different."

There was a chuckle from behind them, and Quentin turned to see Wynne smiling. "Not unlike a certain mage," she said, looking at Quentin, who made a face. "Come, now, I think it's fairly obvious that this young man is telling the truth. So what are you going to do with this information?"

"What I want to know is who refused Orlesian help," Alistair said. "Because as far as we knew, they hadn't even offered."

Fox shrugged. "I don't know, maybe you should ask your commanding officers."

"Oh, yes, that's a good idea," Alistair said, "we could always try raising them from the _dead,_ I hear Morrigan's quite good at that."

"Certainly, but you wouldn't get much of a conversation from them," Morrigan replied.

"No one survived?" Fox demanded. "I heard it was bad, but..."

"It was a slaughter," Alistair said flatly. "Me and Quentin, and Wynne and a few other mages, I suppose," he said, glancing at her, "well, we're the only survivors we know of." His face darkened. "Except for the Teryn and his men."

"Who?" Fox asked.

"The _good_ teryn Loghain," Alistair said, "who decided to desert the Grey Wardens and the King, and pull out the troops that could have saved the battle."

Fox gave a low whistle. "Damn."

"So, yes, you're right, it _is_ odd that the Orlesians didn't get our request for help _,_ especially right before Loghain, the man in charge of planning the battle, committed high treason and deserted his king."

"And then put a bounty on our heads," Quentin added.

"Oh, right, almost forgot about that part," Alistair said dryly. "And then he put a bounty on the heads of any remaining Grey Wardens, for committing treason against the King. Ironic, isn't it?"

"That's disgusting," Fox muttered. "I guess it's a good thing I wasn't exactly advertising the fact I was a Grey Warden, huh?"

"If you keep your head down, you'll probably be fine," Quentin said. "They already know what they're looking for, they had our description back in Lothering."

Fox shook his head. "I've got to say, this is worse than I was imagining. How are you going to stop the blight with only two Grey Wardens?"

"Well, you make three," Quentin said.

"I don't know how long I can stay, though," Fox said, making a face. "I don't know how much I can help."

"Oh! Actually, how long have you been a Grey Warden?" Alistair asked. "Because we were, uh, relatively new recruits, and, well... we don't know how to perform the Joining, so we can't get any new recruits. I don't suppose you know how?"

Fox blinked. "Uh. Damn. In theory, yeah, You use darkspawn blood, some lyrium, and a drop of blood from an archdemon."

"An archdemon?" Alistair demanded. "There must be another way. How did the Wardens do it when they didn't just _happen_ to have the blood of a bastardized Old God on hand?"

"Well..." Fox grimaced. "Normal darkspawn blood isn't strong enough, it would just kill you the way the taint does. I think there's a way of treating it, somehow? But I don't know how."

"Right," Alistair said.

"Look, I can stay for a bit, and maybe get a bit more information to bring back to Orlais. Where are you headed to after this?"

Quentin looked at Alistair. "We were on our way to Redcliffe Castle," Quentin said.

"Redcliffe? Is that near here? Big castle by a village with a windmill?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're going to have a hell of a time getting to the castle," Fox said. "The whole area's overrun by undead, I was mobbed by a horde of them just passing by the outskirts. Barely made it out alive."

"No," Alistair breathed. "Has the village been taken? The castle?"

Fox shrugged. "Couldn't tell, I was too far away."

Alistair looked at Quentin. "We have to go, who knows how long they'll be able to hold out."

Quentin nodded. "Fox, will you help us?"

"Yeah, sure." He looked around their company. "Straight there?"

Alistair nodded. "As quickly as possible. Actually―" he broke off, rubbing his chin. "You probably came by the main road, right?" Fox nodded. "I know a quicker way," Alistair said. "Let's go."

* * *

They made it to the edge of the village without incident, climbing the hill towards the windmill. As the approached the top, however, they began to hear clangs of steel on steel, and shouts. They ran across the bridge, stone giving way to dirt, past the grassy hill―  

"Maker," Alistair breathed. Just down the sloping path, dozens of skeletal corpses clashed with a small band of soldiers, and still more streamed down the path across from them, swarming around a small trampled barricade. "Let's go," he said grimly, and took off running across the bridge, closely followed by the others.

They charged into the mess of undead, Alistair at the head. "For the Grey Wardens!" he bellowed, sweeping his sword through the first skeleton that crossed him, shield at the ready. Quentin fell back to a safe yard or two from the main clump of fighting and activated a few protective glyphs, noting the surprised looks from the soldiers at their appearance. Wynne and Morrigan fell in beside him, and then the air was full of flashes of light.

As they fought, Alistair moved in so he stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with the other soldiers, Fox and Sten beside him, their blades forming a wall of steel that the shambling corpses could only stagger against with wavering strength before falling. He glanced over the other soldiers between sword strokes, but he didn't recognize any of the features he could make out under their helmets. It _had_ been a long time since he'd been to Redcliffe.

Another wave of skeletons marched down the steep incline towards them. "For Andraste's sake, how many of these things are there?" Quentin exclaimed. He clenched his staff in both hands, bracing his feet against the ground. "Let's get some heat over here." Fire magic began smouldering in his chest, and he thrust his arms open, letting loose an immense ball of fire that soared over the fighting below, dipping down towards the approaching undead before exploding in a burst of flame. He leaned heavily on his staff, catching his breath as the flames died down, revealing a smouldering pile of corpses. One corpse staggered to its feet, flames eating at its flesh, but the others didn't stir. "Good," he muttered.

At the head of the group, Cerberus dashed between the animated corpses, clawing and biting and smashing into them with the force of a whirlwind. He knocked down a particularly bare skeletal figure, and tore a bone from its arm, pausing to gnaw on it, tail wagging.

Alistair swung his shield, knocking aside a skeleton aiming for the Cerberus. "At least the dog's having fun," he shouted to Sten.

"His count is likely also higher than yours," Sten said, raising his sword to block a corpse's wild swing.

"What? No way, I'm at 11, how many has he killed?"

"13," Sten said.

"12 now," Alistair said, thrusting his sword through a corpse. "What about you?"

"15. But yours is still moving." He pointed as the corpse Alistair had just skewered climbed to its feet.

"Seriously," Alistair said, and turned to smash his shield into its neck, sending its head flying. "I hate undead."

The waves of undead began to slow, until finally, the last corpse fell, and then it was quiet, the sounds of bubbling water muted by the echoes of the fight still reverberating in their ears. "Is that all of them, do you think?" Alistair said, looking to the soldiers.

A man in ornate, heavy plated armour shook his head. "It's highly unlikely. Most nights we've seen at least three times the number that have appeared so far."

"Most nights? How long has this been going on?" Alistair asked.

"Almost a week now." He looked around at the rest of their party. "Were you sent to aid us?"

"Er, no," Alistair said. "We were on our way here when we heard about the fighting."

"Ah. So there's no one else coming?"

Alistair shook his head. "No, sorry."

"Well, we'll certainly take whatever help we can get. My name is Ser Perth, I'm in charge of what few soldiers we have left, now."

"I'm Alistair, although Quentin's actually the leader of our group," he said, turning to gesture at him.

Quentin nodded at Ser Perth. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you."

"Is this all of your soldiers?" Quentin asked, looking around the bedraggled group.

"Not quite," Ser Perth said, "some are stationed down the hill in the village. But this is most of them. Many are members of the village, actually, not fully trained soldiers. We are all doing what we can to fight this plague of undead, but it has been several days of this."

"Do you know where they're coming from?" Quentin asked. "Have you seen a mage?"

"They seem to be coming from the Castle," Ser Perth said. "Other than that, we don't know. We've had no word from the Castle since this began."

"And the arl?" Alistair asked. "Is he with you?"

Ser Perth shook his head. "If there's anyone alive in the castle, they haven't contacted us. Bann Teagan is here, protecting those who can't fight in the Chantry. We have no word from Lady Isolde, or anyone else."

"Maker, that's not good," Alistair said. "I'd like to talk to Bann Teagan, if I might, when this is over."

"Absolutely."

A soldier came running up the hill. "Ser Perth!" she said, panting for breath, "there are more corpses coming from the lake."

"Maker's breath." Ser Perth looked at Quentin. "Could I ask you to join our men down the hill? We will continue to hold off the corpses coming down from the castle." Quentin nodded. "Katya, take them to the centre of the village."

"Yes, ser."

"Maker be with you," Ser Perth said, turning to face the steep path from the castle once more.

They followed her down another steep hill, planks of wood set into the ground at intervals. One was sticking out of the ground at a steeper angle than the others, and Quentin stumbled, only just catching himself before he fell.

"Are you alright?" Wynne asked, steadying him with one arm.

"Yeah, just..." He reached into his pack, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a lyrium potion. He pulled the cork, and tipped it back, swallowing it down with a grimace. "Maker, that stuff tastes awful." He recorked it, supressing a violent shiver as the surge of mana sent tingles down his spine.

Wynne smiled sympathetically. "It does give quite a kick, though."

"So does a good vodka," Zevran said, "and with none of your hocus pocus hand waving."

"I'll remember you said that next time I consider helping you with my 'hocus pocus hand waving'," Quentin said dryly.

Zevran smiled. "Do not mistake me, I have nothing against your very useful magical abilities, but I would personally take a shot of something bitter over your magical swill any day."

"Well, it wouldn't help you anyway."

"This is true."

They walked down past a few wooden houses before the ground leveled out into a wide courtyard, dirt ground sectioned off by wooden barricades. In the centre, a fire blazed, its flickering light casting dancing shadows across the faces of weary soldiers.

Katya approached a soldier armed with a large kite shield. "Ser, Grey Wardens have arrived to help."

The soldier turned to them, her expression obscured by her large helmet. "Grey Wardens? All of you?"

"Some of us," Quentin said. "But we're all prepared to fight."

"Well, we'll take what we can get." She turned back to Katya. "Back to your post, scouts spotted a good score of undead coming any moment."

"Yes, ser." Katya jogged towards the houses, her bow and quiver bouncing against her back.

"Here they come," the soldier said, pulling her sword from her back as dull green fog swept into the village. There was a whizzing sound, then a thump.

"Quick question," Alistair said, "you haven't seen any undead with bows and arrows yet, have you?"

"If you're asking if that was us or them, it could be either. They're using whatever weapons they can get their bony hands on, and unlike us, the castle is well stocked."

There was another whizzing sound, and the increasing thumps of many feet. The first skeleton broke through the fog, its bare skull shining in the moonlight. A soldier on the edge of the barricade moved to meet it, raising their sword to meet the wide swing of a mace. Then, the shadows in the fog solidified into more undead, and they spilled out from between the houses, stepping over the still bodies of those picked off by arrows.

The air erupted with sound, rasping snarls from skinless jaws met hoarse shouts from weary soldiers. As the night progressed, the shouts died away to muffled grunts barely audible above the clash of steel. Movements became more reserved, tired soldiers and villagers trying desperately to conserve their energy. Fallen bodies, arrows fired, swords thrust, back, forth.

As the sun's faint rays trickled through the dark landscape, the fog began to dissipate, warm light dispelling the clouds of green. They stood, silent, not trusting the deceptive calm, waiting for the undead to reappear. Restless moments stretched on, soldiers stretching tired limbs, exchanging hopeful glances. Shadows stretched long across the ground, and light illuminated the bloodstained earth.

High above them, a bird chirped its morning call.

"They've retreated!" came a shout from Ser Perth, and they cheered, exhileration turning into a heady rush of energy. The other soldiers came down from the hill, and they greeted each other with shouts and claps on the back. Fox grinned at Quentin, their relief infectious.

They moved back towards the chantry, Ser Perth in the lead. He banged on its wide doors. "It's safe," he called, "they're gone!"

The soldiers crowded together behind him as the doors opened, and the other villagers ventured out, hesitancy turning to relief as they greeted friends and family. Last out of the Chantry was a man in civilian clothing, sword and shield on his back. "Ser Perth," he said, clasping the other man's hand, "made it through another night, I see."

"Yes," Ser Perth said, "though I fear we would not have were it not for the help of these people." He gestured to Quentin, and Quentin approached, followed closely by Alistair.

"Then we are indebted to you. My name is Bann Teagan," he said, holding out his hand. And you are...?"

 Quentin shook his hand. "Quentin."

"A pleasure," Teagan said. "Please, excuse me a moment, I'd like to say a few words to the village."

Teagan turned to address the crowd at the foot of the steps. "People of Redcliffe!" he called, and the chatter died down. "Dawn is here, and we have survived another night. We are victorious!" There was a resounding cheer. "And though this victory came at a great cost, we must remember none of us would be here were it not for the heroism of these good folk beside me." He gestured to Quentin, who inclined his head.

"We were happy to help defend your village," Quentin said.

A greying woman in chantry robes stepped forward. "Let us bow our heads and give honour to those who gave their lives in defence of Redcliffe." Teagan and Perth bowed their heads, and Quentin followed suit, hands clasped awkwardly in front of him. Off to the side, Morrigan crossed her arms, and Sten didn't move at all. "Now they walk with He who is their Maker," the chantry woman said. "Long may they know the peace of His love." She stood silently for a moment, then crossed herself, and looked back to Teagan.

"With the Maker's favour," Teagan said, "the blow we delivered today is enough for me to enter the castle and seek out your arl. I will set out before noon; be wary, and watch for signs of renewed attack. We shall return with news as soon as we are able."

* * *

As the crowd dispersed, and the villagers returned to their houses, Teagan beckoned them into the Chantry. "I expect it's been a long day for you," he said, "we've taken to resting during the day, but you must have been awake since the night before. You may make use of the Chantry; those unable to fight have stayed here each night under my protection, so you are welcome rest here a while."

"Thank you," Quentin said, "that would be appreciated."

"While I'm here, is there anything you need to know? I realize we met under very rushed circumstances."

"There is one thing," Alistair said, stepping forward. "Bann Teagan, the arl's brother, right?"

Teagan looked at him. "Yes, that's right." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, you seem... familiar. Have we met before?"

"Hm, well," Alistair smiled, "the last time I saw you, I was a lot younger... and covered in mud."

Teagan stared at him. "Covered in mud? Alistair? You're alive!"

Quentin exchanged a baffled look with Leliana. "Covered in mud?" he whispered, " _that's_ how he knows it's Alistair?" Leliana giggled.

"Yes, alive for now," Alistair said, "though Teryn Loghaine would have it otherwise."

Teagan sighed. "Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things."

"Your nephew?" Quentin asked.

"I refer to Cailain, of course. Our sister was Queen Rowan, King Maric's wife and Cailan's mother, Maker rest her soul." He looked back at Quentin. "So... are you also a Grey Warden then?"

"Yes," Quentin said.

"The last two," Alistair added.

"It's unfortunate that so many fell," Teagan said. "Though we're grateful even for your small number here."

"Yes," Alistair said, frowning, "why are there so few of the arl's knights here? Did you really lose that many to the undead?"

"Some," Teagan said, "but you're correct, we didn't start with as many as we've had in the past. Many did not return from their quest."

"For the Urn of Sacred Ashes," Leliana said. "The knights in the chantry in Lothering said as much, remember?"

"I didn't realize it was so many," Alistair said.

"Yes," Teagan said. "I... question Isolde's decision to send so many knights in search of this relic, but I am a practical man whereas she is a woman of great faith."

"And there's no other hope of curing the arl?" Alistair asked.

"Not that we've found. Even before the attack, our physicians had tried many methods, none of which were successful. Now that the castle is overrun..." He shook his head. "This is why it's imperative that I attempt to enter the castle. But enough talk for now," he said, straightening, "you should rest. I won't be leaving until later in the morning, I can wake you before I leave, if you wish, and we can discuss things further."

"Yes, thank you," Alistair said.

"Feel free to lay your things anywhere," Teagan said, before he left.

As the others made up beds, Alistair beckoned to Quentin. "Hey, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure."

They walked down the carpeted entry and out the wide doors, stopping a few paces away. Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. "You know how I said I wanted to tell you something before?"

"Oh, right," Quentin said. "Before we were attacked. What is it?"

Alistair glanced down at his feet. "Ok, well..." He took a deep breath, looked up. "Remember how I told you I was raised by Arl Eamon? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle, and he took me in?" Quentin nodded. "Well, the reason he did that was because... my father was King Marric. Which made Cailan my... half-brother, I suppose."

Quentin raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I would have told you, but... it never really meant anything to me?" Alistair shrugged. "And it was always a secret; I was an inconvenience, a threat to Cailan's throne. I've never talked about it to anyone. Not to mention," he grimaced, glancing away, "everyone who knew either resented me for it, or they _coddled_ me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it." He met Quentin's gaze anxiously. "I didn't want you to know for as long as possible. I'm sorry."

"It's ok," Quentin said, "I think I understand."

Alistair gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you. Honestly, I would have told you, I was just so tired of..." he gestured vaguely, "all that."

"I can imagine," Quentin said, smiling. "No worries, nothing will change here. Do you want the others to know, or...?"

"Uh." Alistair made a face. "Not really. God, can you imagine what Morrigan would say?"

Quentin laughed. "Vividly."

"I know they'll probably find out eventually, one way or another, but..." Alistair sighed.

"I won't tell anyone, then," Quentin said.

"Thanks, really," Alistair said with a sigh, "I appreciate it."

"No problem." Quentin made a humming sound, brow slightly creased. "Ok, one question, and forgive me if it's a dumb one: Does that make you heir to the throne?"

"Maker, let's hope not," Alistair said, shaking his head. "I'm the son of a commoner, and a _Grey Warden_ to boot. It was made very clear to me early on that there was no room for me raising any rebellions or such nonsense. And that's fine by me," Alistair added, "Andraste knows I don't want to be King." Quentin smiled. "Besides, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon. He's not of royal blood, but he's Cailan's uncle. And more importantly, he's very popular with the people. Although..." His face fell. "If he's really as sick as we've heard... and with all those undead corpses coming out of the castle, who knows if... no, I don't want to think about that. I really don't."

"We still don't know who's summoning them," Quentin reminded him. "They probably targeted Redcliffe for a reason, so if the undead are still coming, I expect the mage is still here, and Arl Eamon is with them."

"I... I'm not sure if that's reassuring," Alistair said, frowning, "but thanks."

"We'll find him," Quentin promised.

"Yeah... Anyway," Alistair said, "we should get some sleep."

Quentin nodded. "Yes."

They went into the Chantry, and found the others lying clumped in a corner on their sleeping rolls. Zevran lay sprawled across his own roll and part of Leliana's, Sten just behind them. Wynne looked up as they approached, and pointed at Cerberus, who was sitting on their bedrolls, one foot squashing Quentin's bag. "He's been waiting for you," she murmured, surpressing a small smile.

Quentin clicked his fingers at Cerberus, who stood up, and trotted over to Quentin, nudging his hand until Quentin rubbed behind the Mabari's ears. "Trouble-maker," Quentin said.

Alistair and Quentin unrolled their sleeping rolls, and joined the others. Quentin lay back, and Cerberus walked across Morrigan's legs to settle himself between Quentin and Alistair. Morrigan shot the Mabari a death glare, but said nothing, and rolled over.

Sleep soon overtook most of them, but Quentin lay awake, brain buzzing like he'd just downed an entire flask of lyrium potion. When he closed his eyes, visions of the Circle appeared, Uldred surrounded by ghastly abominations, bodies of classmates and teachers sprawled on the bloody floor, Irving lying in a pool of blood― _No, Irving survived,_ he reminded himself. _He's alive._ He curled up on his side, staring at the wall, waiting for sleep that refused to come.

_We're fighting undead now, not abominations._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you started reading this when it was only one chapter long, you should go back to the first chapter; this story ended up being longer than i expected, so instead of breaking it up into lots of tiny chapters, i extended the first chapter.

It could not have been even halfway to noon before Quentin heard footsteps. He sat up, and saw Bann Teagan approaching.

"Ah, good, you're up," he said. "Forgive me for returning so soon, but I need to speak with you and Alistair."

Quentin reached over and shook Alistair's shoulder. "Alistair." Alistair mumbled something incoherent. "Alistair."

He opened his eyes, turning his head. "Wha―" He looked up. "Teagan?" He sat up abruptly, blinking. "What is it, are they back?"

"The undead? No, no, not that. It's something else, may I speak with you both outside?"

"Yes, of course." They stood up and followed Teagan a short ways outside the Chantry.

"I'm sorry for waking you so soon, but I've received contact from inside the castle."

"Inside?" Alistair's eyes widened. "Who?"

"Lady Isolde came with one of our men just moments ago. She said she tried to escape with Connor, but he wouldn't come. She wants me to return with her to the castle to try to convince him. Alone."

"Well _that_ certainly doesn't sound like a trap," Alistair said dryly.

"It may well be," Teagan agreed. "But that's why I need you to follow my original plan, and enter the castle behind me." He pulled a ring from his finger. "My signet ring will unlock a secret passageway into the castle from inside the mill." He handed it to Quentin.

"What about Arl Eamon?" Alistair asked. "Is he alive?"

"Yes," Teagan said, "although he is very ill. Isolde says that the mage who unleashed the undead on the castle also poisoned the arl."

"Poisoned? Why?" Alistair demanded.

"Apparently he claimed to be hired by an agent Teryn Loghain, although I do not know if he was telling the truth."

Alistair and Quentin exchanged a glance. "I wouldn't be surprised," Alistair said.

"There is... another thing," Teagan said. "Lady Isolde mentioned another, greater evil in the castle, something unleashed by the mage that she says is keeping them alive for the moment."

"A demon?" Quentin said.

"It does seem that way," Teagan agreed. "She said it _allowed_ her to come find me, so you should know, it may have some nefarious plan on our lives."

Quentin nodded. "Thank you for warning us."

"I'll have Ser Perth and his men stand outside the castle. If you require their aid, you can open the gates from within."

"Understood," Alistair said.

Teagan glanced behind him. "I should go, I promised Lady Isolde I would only be a few moments."

"Go, then," Alistair said. "We'll find you inside."

"Just remember, Arl Eamon is the priority here," Teagan said. "Me, Lady Isolde, and anyone else, we're expendable." Quentin shot an uneasy glance at Alistair, but nodded. "May the Maker watch over you," Teagan said, before walking away.

They returned to the chantry, where most of the party were still asleep. Leliana was already up, sitting cross-legged against the wall as she watched them approach. "Has something happened?"

"Yes," Quentin said. "Just a moment, we need to tell everyone."

"Time to get up," Alistair said, nudging his foot at legs and shoulders of those still sleeping. Morrigan shot him a deadly glare, but sat up. Quentin tapped the inside of Zevran's elbow as he began to stir ("You see, no one goes for the elbow," Zevran had said, "that way, I know it's you and you don't end up with a dagger in your leg before I am fully awake.") Sten rolled upright, muscles tense, then relaxed as he saw the mostly empty chantry.

Wynne stretched, yawning widely. "What is it?" she asked.

"Teagan's gone into the castle," Alistair said. "We're going in after him."

"Oh, _good,"_ Morrigan said, "a rescue mission. I can't wait."

"We're not doing this to rescue him," Alistair said. "He went in ahead to distract... whatever's in the castle."

"Though it'd be nice if he survived," Quentin said. "The most important thing is finding Arl Eamon. Lady Isolde came to find Teagan, the Arl's been poisoned, and there's a demon of some sort holding the survivors captive."

"In other words, _a rescue mission,"_ Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. "To rescue the man you were hoping would help _you_."

"He's trapped in a castle full of undead, and possibly a powerful demon," Alistair retorted, "I'd like to see _you_ get out of that on your own."

She shrugged. "Yes, but I am not the leader of a small army."

"What part of _on your own_ did you not understand?" Alistair demanded.

"Guys," Quentin said, "we're wasting time, Teagan's already on his way to the castle, we need to be right behind him."

"I assume you do not mean that literally," Zevran said, "so how exactly are we getting into the castle? Is there another entrance you know of, or is this an improvise-as-we-go sort of plan?"

"There's a secret tunnel in the windmill," Quentin said.

"Ooh, I do love secret tunnels."

Sten stood up. "If we have as little time as you suggest," he said, "perhaps we should depart now, and make plans on the way."

"Yes," Quentin said, "let's go."

They quickly packed up their belongings, and put their larger bags in a pile in the corner, holstering their weapons. They left quietly, Quentin still attempting to reattach his drawstring pouch to his belt as they closed the large chantry doors behind them.

Outside, the village was empty, and the wind had picked up, beating against their tired limbs as they climbed the hill to the windmill. From the top, the land fell away to the village below and the lake beyond it, its normally placid surface churning with rough waves. The castle appeared strangely calm, its solid stone exterior indifferent to the harsh wind, showing no indications that it housed an undead army within its walls. Quentin opened the door to the windmill, and they filed inside, crowding into the narrow space as he bent dig through the pile of straw to the trap door below. At the back of the group, Sten closed the windmill door behind them, the resounding thunk leaving behind an eery silence.

Quentin pressed Teagan's signet ring into the lock of the trap door, and it clicked open. "We're in," he said, lifting the latch, then the trap door itself.

Stale air wafted out of the hole, the smells of damp and mold and rusting metal accompanied by the disctinct smell of death. "I bet this comes out in some kind of prison area," Alistair said, wrinkling his nose. "Not somewhere I would have had the chance to see as a child."

"Not somewhere that's visited very often, either, I expect," Quentin said, stepping down onto the ladder to climb down into the darkness.

The ladder stopped a foot or so from the dirty stone floor, its bottom rung missing. Quentin dropped awkwardly to the floor, stepping out into a short corridor. Behind him, Alistair stepped out of the way as Zevran leapt down lightly. "Brr," he said, "it does get quite chilly in these underground passages."

"You don't have sleeves," Quentin said, amused. "Of course you're cold."

"I am not complaining, simply an observation," Zevran replied.

"Right," Quentin smiled, moving back as the others joined them. He approached the wooden door, pressed his ear against its damp surface. "I don't hear anyth―wait." There was the sound of footsteps, then a metal clang.

"Get away from me!" came a muffled cry.

Quentin frowned. "Jowan?" he murmured. He turned. "There's someone in there," he said, "multiple people, armed." He glanced at Wynne. "And I think I heard Jowan."

"Jowan?" Wynne pursed her lips. "Quentin, Jowan's dead, Templars were sent to hunt him down."

Quentin shook his head. "I swear, it sounded like him."

"I'm sorry," Wynne said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's not him."

"Right." Quentin stepped back toward the door.

"Who's Jowan?" Fox murmured to Leliana.

"An old friend of Quentin's, I think," she replied.

"Should we wait and see if they leave?" Alistair said. "We don't want anyone to know we're here."

"I guess, yeah." Quentin leaned his head against the door. More footsteps, and a clanking sound that seemed to be getting... louder. "They're coming this way," he hissed, stepping back from the door. Not moments later, the door slammed open, revealing undead soldiers. _Great._ Before anyone else had time to react, Quentin thrust his hands forward, shooting a burst of cold that froze all three of the corpses solid. "Excuse me," he said pushing one over with his staff to walk around them into the passage.

"I never tire of that," Zevran said with a grin, deftly spinning a dagger to stab it into the closest corpse. Alistair swept aside the other with his shield, shattering it into countless clumps of ice before sinking his sword into the remaining corpse.

"Hello?" a voice called, "who's there? Is there anyone alive out there?"

Quentin swallowed, heart thudding in his chest. "Ok, that's definitely... Jowan?" he called, hurrying down the hall, past barred cells set into the stone walls.

"Quentin? Is that you?" The voice came from the last cell, and Quentin walked faster, until he saw him, standing inside the small cell. "It _is_ you!" Jowan said, stepping forward, hands resting on the bars.

"Jowan, you're alive!" Quentin exclaimed.

"Yes, still alive and kicking," Jowan said with a grin. "But you, how did you get in here?"

"Secret tunnel," Quentin said. "What are you doing here?" The others approached behind him, Alistair at his right, Wynne standing, arms crossed.

"Wait, there's a tunnel?" Jowan demanded. "Why hasn't anyone in the castle used it? We could all have escaped by now!"

"Lady Isolde said there was something stopping them," Quentin said.

"Oh? I hadn't heard that," Jowan said. "Though, it's hard to know what's going on from down here in the dungeon. I just know that those horrible reanimated corpses keep coming down here."

Quentin frowned. "What _are_ you doing in a dungeon?"

"I think that's pretty clear," Alistair said. "He's the mage behind all this."

"What? No!" Jowan protested. "I didn't summon the undead, that's crazy, I didn't want this!"

"Then why are you in a prison cell?" Wynne asked, crossing her arms.

"I, uh." Jowan rubbed a hand through his hair. "I poisoned Arl Eamon."

"You _what?"_ Alistair demanded.

"But that's all I did!" Jowan added. "I was already in here when all this started. The first I heard of it was Lady Isolde coming down here, demanding I reverse what I'd done... She thought I'd summoned a demon, to torture her family, to destroy Redcliffe."

"But you were already down here," Quentin said.

"Yes," Jowan said earnestly. "She didn't believe me. She..." he looked away, "she had me tortured. Nothing I said made any difference. So they left me to rot."

"So she didn't trust an _assassin_ to tell the truth," Alistair spat, "I'm rather inclined to side with her."

"I would hardly call him an assassin," Wynne said. "A blood mage, certainly."

"He's a _blood mage_ as well?" Alistair said, eyebrows raised. "This just gets better and better."

"I didn't do any of this," Jowan said, desperately, "I didn't use blood magic, I was only here to tutor Lady Isolde's son."

Alistair frowned. "Tutor Connor? Why?"

"She was looking for a mage to tutor Connor secretly. Teryn Loghain found out, and he... sent me. I was to use the opportunity to poison the arl."

"But why would the arlessa want a _mage_ to tutor her son?" Alistair asked.

"He'd started to show... signs. Of magic, you know? Lady Isolde was terrified the Circle of Magi would take him away for training."

"Connor? A mage?" Alistair said, shaking his head, "I can't believe it."

"Ok, so," Quentin rubbed a hand across his forehead, "you tutored Connor, you poisoned the arl, and then undead started appearing." He closed his eyes, chewing on his lip.

"How much did you teach Connor?" Wynne asked, and Quentin opened his eyes.

"Some," Jowan shrugged. "He's so young, though, he can barely cast a minor spell. I know what you're getting at, though, and I've thought about it―it's possible Connor could have inadvertently done something to tear open the Veil."

"And with the veil torn..." Quentin glanced at Wynne, "all sorts of spirits could get out. Or. In?" He made a face. "Out of the veil, I mean, into the castle."

Jowan nodded. "Yes."

"I suppose," Wynne said.

"I never meant for it to end like this, I swear," Jowan said to Quentin. "Let me help you fix this."

Alistair looked between them as Quentin considered Jowan. "Uh, hang on," Alistair said, "we're not _actually_ considering letting the blood mage out, are we? He poisoned the arl!"

"I..." Quentin looked at Wynne. "He wants to help."

"Jowan may have good intentions," Wynne said, "but even if he didn't summon the undead himself, it was his attempts to help the boy that started all of this. I'm not sure it's wise."

Quentin sighed. "I'm sorry," he said to Jowan.

Jowan shook his head. "It's fine, I understand. Wouldn't want to be out in the castle with all those undead around, anyway," he said, with a smile.

"We should get going," Leliana said. "Who knows how long we will have before someone discovers our presence."

"They haven't checked on me since Isolde's... visit, if that's any help," Jowan said.

"Thank you," Quentin said. "Do you know where the survivors are?"

"Last I saw, they were in this big hall near the entrance to the castle," Jowan said. "You'll come up in the west wing from here, so it shouldn't be too hard to find."

"I think I might know what he means," Alistair said. "Though it might take a bit of searching, it's been a while since I was here. Come on." He set off, followed by Wynne and Leliana.

Quentin hesitated, raised a hand in farewell to Jowan. "Good luck," Jowan said.

"We'll be back," Quentin promised.

They ascended a narrow spiraling staircase to the ground floor, Quentin pausing to listen for movement before opening the door. They emptied out into the silent hallway. "I wonder how many secret dungeons and tunnels the castle has," Alistair said, closing the door behind them.

"A good many, if it is well built," Zevran said.

One benefit of the eery silence was how easy was to hear the undead coming; the clanking and groaning sound put them on guard moments before the corpses' appearance, making it easy to wipe them out even in the narrow hallways.

As they proceeded down the halls, they checked every door they came across, sometimes happening upon a group of undead just inside the room.

"It does make you wonder what they were doing in there," Alistair said, tossing a severed arm to the ground with distaste. "Before we find them, I mean. It's not like a bunch of skeletons would enjoy lounging around a fire while they wait for something to kill."

"Perhaps they were admiring the decor?" Zevran said.

"They probably don't do anything when they're not receiving orders," Quentin said. "Maybe the demon told them to spread out through the castle, so they're just literally standing there until something happens."

"Imagine being the poor sod who thinks he's going to the golden city in the clouds, and instead ends up as a rotting corpse standing around waiting for something to happen," Fox said.

"I'd honestly rather take purgatory," Alistair said.

"Their souls aren't brought back, though, just their bodies," Quentin said.

"Ok, Ser-All-Knowing," Fox said, shooting him a grin.

"I'm just saying," Quentin said defensively, "it's not something you need to worry about. Because it's literally impossible."

"Mmhm."

They continued further along, crossing from one long hall into another that ended in two doors perpendicular to each other. Alistair, Sten, Wynne, and Morrigan pushed forward, while Quentin opened the door to the left to reveal another door not feet away. "A door to another door," Fox said, "how useful."

"Rich people are not known for their practicality," Zevran commented, following them as Quentin opened the second door.

It opened into a large room, comfy chairs positioned around a fire. "You don't think this is what the mage was talking about?" Fox said, as they stood in the doorway.

"I guess it's possible," Quentin said.

"I do not believe it truly matters," Zevran said, "as there is no one here."

"Yeah."

Leliana stepped around them to peer into the room. "I think it is more of a sitting room, anyway," she said, "a very fancy one too. Look at the mantelpiece, and those paintings." She pointed at a portrait of a woman hanging above the fire. "It almost looks Orlesian. Fox, don't you think so?"

Fox glanced at it, then shrugged. "I don't spend much time around nobility, I wouldn't know."

"Really?" Leliana exclaimed, turning to him. "Oh, but you're missing out on so much, Orlesian art is incredible!"

"If I walked into the house of a nobleman, I wouldn't get to see more than the extravagantly decorated hallway before someone demanded what a _knife-ear_ was doing in their estate," he said dryly. Zevran snorted.

"That can't be right," Leliana said, frowning, "I've seen many elves in noble houses, they often hold posts there."

Fox narrowed his eyes at her. "Uh, yeah. As slaves."

"What, no," Leliana protested, "there are no slaves in Orlais! There are serfs, yes, but―"

"Are you _serious?"_ Fox demanded. "It's the same damn thing. How many elves have you seen holding other 'posts _'?_ As merchants, or soldiers? Do you really think they have a choice? There aren't even that many elves in the Grey Wardens in Orlais, I can count them on one hand."

"I... hadn't thought about it like that," Leliana stammered. "I'm so sorry, I did not mean―"

"Don't try and _bond_ with me over Orlais. Your Orlais is very different from mine." He turned away, and strode out the door and down the hall after Sten. "Oh good, more skeletons."

They filed quickly out of the room, Leliana glancing anxiously at Fox even as they caught up with the others.

As they fought they began to hear strange noises from beyond the groans of the undead and clanging of weapons. "Do you hear that?" Alistair said, as he severed a corpse's arm from its body. Laughter echoed from down the hall. "That... sounds like Bann Teagan, why is he _laughing?"_

Wynne shot a blast of purple light at one last skeleton, sending it crashing to the floor. "We should be careful," she said, "if the demon is with them, who knows what may happen."

They slowed to a stop in front of a another door. "But we do need to know what's going on," Quentin said. "Just be ready." He pushed the door open, and they walked into a large hall, wooden tables on either side of a small cluster of people. In the front, a man was dancing, Teagan, doing flips and waving his arms with a bizarrely comical expression on his face. A young boy stood behind him, and his head whipped around to stare at them as they entered. Teagan flipped into a crouch at the boy's feet.

"Who are these people?" a booming voice demanded, "are these the ones you told me about?" The boy's mouth moved with it as if he were the one speaking the words, but the voice echoed as if they were in a cathedral, and the anger in the child's scrunched up face seemed only a fraction of what the voice promised.

Beside him, Lady Isolde shrank back, hands shaking. "Y-yes, Connor."

"These are the ones who defeated my soldiers? The soldiers I sent to reclaim _my_ village?"

"Who are you?" Quentin asked, hand gripping his staff tightly.

Connor's head jerked toward Quentin, staring at him. "What is that, Mother? I can't see it well enough."

"He's a Grey Warden, Connor, an elf. You... you've seen elves before, there are servants, here in the castle..."

"Oh, I remember!" the voice boomed, the boy's mouth widening into an unsettling grin. "I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs!" Beside Quentin, Fox stiffened. "The dogs chewed for hours! Shall I send it to the kennels, Mother?"

"C-Connor, I beg you, don't hurt anyone!" Isolde pleased.

"You disgusting..." Fox breathed, "let's end this. _Now."_

Quentin reached out and grabbed his arm as he started forward, hands gripping his swords tightly. "Wait, he's just―"

"M-Mother?" A small voice came from the boy now, a plaintive whimper. "What... what's happening? Where am I?"

"He's just a child," Quentin murmured.

Isolde fell to her knees, hands outstretched. "Oh, thank the Maker! Connor! Connor, can you hear me?"

Then, Connor's head snapped up. "Get away from me, fool woman!" the voice boomed. "You are beginning to bore me."

Isolde looked at them desperately. "Please, don't hurt my son, he's not responsible for what he does!"

Fox shook off Quentin's arm, but he stood back, watching Connor warily. Quentin looked at Teagan, who sat on the balls of his feet, a goofy grin on his face. "What did you do to Bann Teagan?" he asked.

Teagan's head perked up. "Here I am! Here am I!" He laughed, the sound high-pitched and grating.

"I like him better this way," Connor said. "No more yelling; now he amuses me!"

"Connor didn't mean to do this!" Lady Isolde insisted. "It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon―he started this! Connor was just trying to help his father!"

Connor grinned. "It was a fair deal! Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it's _my_ turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do anymore!"

"Nobody tells him what to do!" Teagan parroted. "Nobody!"

Connor whipped around to face Teagan. "Quiet, uncle. I warned you what would happen if you kept shouting, didn't I? Yes, I did." He turned back to Quentin. "But let's keep things civil. Tell us... what have you come here for? Are you going to insist on fighting me?"

"Not if we don't have to," Quentin said. "Leave Connor alone, come out yourself and we can talk."

"I don't think so," Connor said, "you'll just spoil things. I was just having fun! Everyone else had fun too, right, Uncle?"

Teagan's head rolled back to look at Connor. "Marmalade!" he exclaimed.

"See?" Connor gave a booming laugh that made the walls shudder. "We're having fun!" He narrowed his eyes. "You want to ruin my fun, just like when you saved that stupid village. I crave excitement! And action!" He raised his arms, and clouds of green billowed into the air.

"Uh oh," Alistair muttered.

"But I know just how to make this more fun!" Connor cried. There was a flash of light, and skeletons began to crawl from the floor. Teagan got to his feet, face still marred by an unnerving grin, and Isolde shrank back against the wall. Then, something in Connor's face changed, and he froze, eyes darting about frantically, then dashed out the door.

"Great," Fox said, "we missed the demon, and now there's _more_ of these bastards."

"And, uh..." Alistair pointed at the front of the room with his sword, as Teagan unslung his sword and shield from his back. "I think he's still being controlled."

"Try not to harm him," Quentin called, as the undead staggered towards them.

"And what if he harms _us?"_ Morrigan retorted, backing away to send a few well-aimed shots at the approaching skeletons. Alistair jogged toward Teagan before he could approach any of the others, taking up a defensive position as Teagan swung his sword.

"I'll handle it," Quentin said.

As the others picked off the undead, Alistair stepped around Teagan's leaden attacks. Now that the demon was gone, he seemed less animated, moving only with clumsy motions intended to kill. "I know you're in there, Teagan," Alistair called above the din, "I don't want to fight you!"

Quentin sent a blast of ice at a skeleton moving towards them, freezing it solid. "Alistair, get out of the way," he shouted.

"What?" Alistair ducked under a wide swing of Teagan's sword. "No, don't hurt him!"

"For―" Quentin rolled his eyes. "I'm just going to stun him. Move!" Alistair knocked his shield against Teagan's, sending the man staggering back. He ducked out of the way, shielding his eyes as Quentin sent a stunning shot at Teagan. There was a flash of light, and Teagan collapsed to the ground. "Ta da," Quentin muttered. Alistair grabbed Teagan by the arms and dragged him out of the way before rejoining the fight.

They finished off the skeletons quickly enough, having fought enough of them to more or less predict their shambling movements. When the last skeleton fell, Lady Isolde leaned forward cautiously, then hurried to Teagan's side. "Teagan! Teagan, are you alright?" She put a hand on his shoulder, then turned to Quentin. "What did you do to him? Is he...? "

"Stunning spell," Quentin said. "He'll be fine."

Teagan groaned, eyes flickering open. "Blessed Andraste," Isolde breathed, "I would never have forgiven myself had you died, not after I brought you here. What a fool I am!"

Teagan sat up slowly, brows furrowed. "What happened?"

"The demon, it was... controlling you," Isolde said.

"Ah. Now I remember."

Isolde turned to face the others. "Please, Connor's not responsible for this, there must be some way we can save him!"

Bann Teagan shook his head. "I'm not sure that it's possible. Demons do not listen to reason."

"He seemed to be breaking through, sometimes," Wynne said. "Does that happen often?"

"Yes, sometimes..." She looked at Wynne desperately. "Do you think there's hope?"

"I don't know," Wynne admitted. "Demons are fickle creatures."

"Where is he now?" Quentin asked. "Why did he run away?"

Isolde frowned. "He may have run up to his room... violence scares him."

"You think Connor came out again?" Alistair looked at Quentin.

"He did seem a bit different before he ran off," Quentin said.

"So you're saying he may be vulnerable," Teagan said.

"I..." Isolde looked torn. "Perhaps. Is there no other way?"

"There must be," Quentin said, looking around at Bann Teagan, then Alistair, Wynne, Fox.

Bann Teagan shook his head. "I would gladly take another solution if it were possible, but it seems there is nothing else we can do."

"Hold on just a moment," Wynne said. "There might be a way..." She frowned. "Oh, but we just don't have enough mages to sustain it."

"What is it?" Lady Isolde demanded. "Please, if there's a way to save my son, I must know!"

Wynne glanced at Quentin. "It is possible to enter the fade to face a spirit one-on-one, and therefore avoid inflicting harm on the boy. But it would take a great deal of power, and lyrium, and there are only three of us with magic here, one of which would be entering the fade."

"What about the boy's tutor?" Lady Isolde said. "He is still here, imprisoned in the dungeon, he could help!"

"Jowan? I don't know if that's a good idea... He is a blood mage, after all."

"He said he wanted to redeem himself," Quentin said. "Maybe he can help us."

Zevran snorted. "I would say a great many things if I were imprisoned in a cellar."

"I think he means it, though," Quentin said. "I know he's made some bad decisions, but never maliciously."

"Then he is not intentionally dangerous, but dangerously incompetent," Zevran said, "I do not know which is worse."

"Look, I know he's your friend," Alistair said, "but he used blood magic to summon a _hoard of corpses._ I don't think it matters at this point whether or not he meant well."

"Weren't you listening to the demon? 'My soldiers', it said. It sounds more like the demon summoned them," Quentin said.

"Hm. And it did mention a deal," Wynne said, "It's entirely likely that an untrained mage like Connor would be tricked into such a thing, especially to save his father."

"Jowan can help," Quentin insisted.

Lady Isolde looked between them, then at Bann Teagan. "Please, if it could help my son..."

Bann Teagan looked to Quentin. "Shall I fetch him from the dungeon?"

"Me and Wynne will come with you," Quentin said.

They brought Jowan up the stairs, and down the long carpeted corridors into the large hall. "We need to go into the Fade to save Connor," Quentin explained.

"So why do you need me?" Jowan asked. "Do you want me to use blood magic to―"

"No," Wynne cut him off sharply. "We simply need another mage to aid in the effort."

Jowan looked around the room dubiously. "There's, what, three of you? How quickly do you really think you can get in and out of the Fade? Unless you've brought a _lot_ of lyrium, I'm not sure we'll be able to keep it open for very long."

"We may have to be quick, but I will not have you  _killing_ someone, even to save the child," Wynne retorted.

Jowan held up his hands defensively. "Hang on, I've never killed anyone... with blood magic, anyway, not like that. It doesn't have to _kill_ someone, that only happens if you use all their life energy. I can just draw on some of it to make the spell stronger."

Wynne shook her head. "No, out of the question."

"Wynne, please," Quentin said, "he's not going to hurt anyone, not this time. Jowan," he turned to the apostate, "you can just use your own blood, right?"

"Yes," Jowan said, nodding.

"Swear to it," Alistair said, "promise that you won't use blood magic on anyone else."

"Alright," Jowan said, "you have my word, I swear, on... uh..." He trailed off, looked at Quentin. "Look, I... understand if you don't consider us friends anymore, but I will always consider you to be my friend. I'm sorry things ended up this way."

"So am I," Quentin said. "I don't approve of everything you've done... but you're still my friend."

Jowan smiled. "On our friendship, then." He looked at Alistair. "Is that good enough for you?"

"I suppose it will have to do," Alistair said grudgingly.

Quentin looked around at Wynne and Morrigan. "Are we doing this, then?"

Morrigan shrugged. "I have no issue with it."

"I don't like this, but we should help where we are able," Wynne said.

"Bless you," Lady Isolde cried, "bless you."

"Is there anything you need?" Bann Teagan asked.

"Clear an area in the middle of the room," Wynne said.

They pushed back the tables on either side of the room against the walls, the mages standing in the centre. The others backed up as Wynne, Morrigan, and Jowan stood around Quentin, staffs in hand.

"The demon possessing Connor is most likely a desire demon," Wynne said. "Remember your training: Do not let it bargain with you."

"Just in and out," Quentin said, nodding, then swayed slightly on his feet. He blinked, and gave himself a shake.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Wynne asked. "Someone else could go in, exchange places with you."

"No," Quentin said, "I'm not making anyone else go in after it, I'll be fine."

"So be it."

Quentin stood silently as the others raised their arms, brows creased in concentration as a glow enveloped them, blood swirling from the cut on the back of Jowan's arm, the whispers of the Fade trickling into hearing. The whispers grew into murmuring, and a cloud of green swirled into existence. Quentin gripped his staff, watching as it grew as tall and wide as himself, shadows darting about just beneath the surface. Then, he took a deep breath, and stepped into its depths, and everything disappeared. 

* * *

For those left behind in Redcliffe Castle, there was nothing to do but wait. So they waited. And waited. After some time, they sat on the floor, on benches, huddled in a quiet group while the mages stood in their circle, arms aloft. The air prickled with magic, the whispers of the Fade joined by whispered conversation from those outside it.

Leliana shuffled over to Fox. "I'm truly sorry about what I said earlier," she murmured. "You're right, I saw a different part of Orlais than you. I did not mean to offend."

"It's fine," he sighed, "I'm sorry I lost my temper, you didn't mean badly. It's just... a bit of a sore subject."

"I think I can understand that."

"Thank you." He glanced up at her. "We good?"

She nodded. "Yes." 

* * *

"How do they know when the Warden will return?" Sten asked.

"They don't," Leliana said.

"Then how do they know how long to hold the portal open for?"

"We shall know when he steps out," Zevran said.

"That is most inefficient," Sten said. "This is why the Qunari keep mages collared at all times."

"Uh..." Leliana exchanged a look with Alistair. _How awful,_ she mouthed. 

* * *

"What happens if he gets... stuck, in there?" Alistair said in a low voice.

"Let's not think about that," Leliana said.

"But Wynne said they needed a lot of lyrium," Alistair insisted, "and he's been in there a while. What happens if they run out?"

"The blood mage could always kill someone," Fox said dryly. Alistair glared at him. "What? I'm just saying."

"And whose life are we _sacrificing_ for his? You can't justify that," Alistair said.

Fox just shrugged. Beside him, Zevran shifted slightly, but said nothing. 

* * *

They knew he had succeeded when there was a pattering of footsteps, and Connor ran into the room. "Mother," he cried, throwing himself at Lady Isolde.

"Connor!"

"So where's Quentin?" Alistair said over Lady Isolde's sobs, staring at the mages. Moments later, there was a flash of light, and Quentin appeared in the circle. He blinked hard, swaying, and the mages lowered their arms, magic draining from the air. The others stood up, and Alistair moved toward Quentin, catching him as he fell forward, his staff tumbling to the ground.

"Quentin!" Jowan stepped forward, arm outstretched, but stopped when Alistair shot him a distrustful look.

Alistair twisted to lay Quentin on the ground. "Okay... bit of help here," he said, looking frantically at Wynne, "is he alright? Is this normal?"

Wynne bent down, and laid a hand on his head, checked his pulse. "He seems to have just passed out from exhaustion. With some rest, he should be fine."

"Thank the Maker," Alistair said. Behind him, Leliana gave a relieved sigh.

"Do you have a room where he can rest for a while?" Wynne asked Teagan.

"Yes, yes, of course," Teagan said. "After what you've done for us, you are all welcome to stay here while you recover. I'll show you to our guest quarters."

"Thank you," Wynne said. "Alistair, could you...? I'd like to check Connor over before I do anything else, just to be safe."

"Of course." Alistair carefully lifted Quentin, shifting his legs to carry him bridal-style.

"Just this way," Teagan said, and Alistair followed him down the hall. Morrigan bent to pick up Quentin's staff, and walked after them.

Zevran looked at Leliana, uncertain. "Should we...?"

"Come on," she said, "I could sleep for a year."

They followed Teagan to a hall ending in a number of doors. Once Quentin was settled on a bed, they quickly split off into separate rooms to get some desperately needed rest. 

* * *

Afternoon was turning into evening before anyone stirred. Sten rose first, and promptly left to walk around the Redcliffe grounds. Not long after, Wynne was curled up with a book borrowed from Redcliffe's shelves, and the others soon followed, gathering in clumps, basking in the simple luxury of furniture and four walls protecting them from the elements. Teagan had hot food brought to each of them once they were up, and Alistair disappeared with him soon after, murmured conversation about the arl fading as they retreated to Teagan's study.

Fox ate quickly; he hadn't eaten since noon the previous day, not thinking to stop before he ran into the others. When he was finished, he set down his plate, and glanced around the room. To one side, Wynne and Leliana were sitting close, backs to him in low conversation. Neither Sten nor Alistair had returned, and there was no sign of Zevran or Quentin, the latter of which he was fairly sure hadn't even gotten up yet. Fox rose and walked down the hall, back toward the guest quarters. He turned a corner, and saw Zevran, crouched stationary against the wall.

"Hey, uh, you alright?" Fox asked, walking closer.

"Hm?" Zevran stared ahead, chin in his hand. Then, he blinked, and looked up. "Forgive me, I was not paying attention, what did you say?"

"I asked if you were alright." Fox sat down beside him. "You worried about your friend?"

"No need, he is going to be fine," Zevran said flatly.

Fox shot him an amused glance. "I'm not saying I'm doubting you, but you've been pacing between this hallway and the banquet hall ever since you got up."

"It certainly sounds like you're doubting me," Zevran said, but he smiled, and shook his head.

"How long have you known him?" Fox asked.

"Not so long, really. As I understand, none of us have known him for more than a month."

"Huh." Fox leaned his head back against the wall. "You seem like a close bunch. I guess war brings people together?"

"Considering I only met him because I was contracted to assassinate him by the man who doomed the beginning of this war," Zevran said with a grin, "yes, I believe that is an accurate statement."

Fox laughed. "Wow. Did everyone in your group meet in such a dramatic way?"

"Let me see," he said, leaning back against the wall. "I am told Quentin met Alistair before the battle that killed nearly all the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, Leliana joined them after a bar fight, they found Sten in a cage after he killed a family of farmers, and Wynne joined us to cleanse a tower of demons created by blood mages within their ranks."

"No shit," Fox said. "I've been a Grey Warden for a while, but all of that in a few weeks is still a lot."

"Yes," Zevran said. He stared across the hall, brows furrowed. "Much of it would have been easy for him to avoid, you know. It would have made more sense to leave the murderous Qunari where he found him. And most people would kill an assassin, not invite him to travel with him. I mean, really. Who does that?"

Fox glanced at Zevran, grinning at his exasperation. "Someone way more trusting than you or me, I guess."

"It baffles the mind," Zevran said. "It is as if he has a death wish."

They sat in silence for a moment, distant sounds of voices drifting across the quiet. Fox rubbed a hand over one ear, and through his hair. "Ok, question: Are you two, like, a thing?"

"Quentin and I?" Zevran asked, looking at him curiously. "No, we are not involved in any way."

"Ok." Fox dropped his hand to his knees.

"Tell me," Zevran leaned forward slightly, and Fox looked up, "do you ask because you are interested in him or me?"

"Is both out of the question?" Fox said with a grin.

Zevran chuckled. "Ah, a man after my own heart―or body, as it were. Three or more is such fun. Unfortunately, Quentin has proved disinterested in such things. I, on the other hand..." he gave Fox a sweeping glance, mouth curling up on one side, "am open to suggestion."

Fox swallowed, heart picking up speed. "Then I might have a _suggestion_ ," he said. Then the door to Quentin's room opened, and they both jumped to their feet.

"Hey." Quentin stepped into the hall, and yawned widely, his white hair sticking up in all directions. "Wow, my back is sore. How long did I sleep?"

"All day," Zevran said. "Everyone else is awake, you kept us waiting long enough," he said with a grin.

"Sorry," Quentin said ruefully, "I guess I was tired." He tipped his head, eyes narrowing. "Wait, what happened? I remember facing the demon, but that's it... Is Connor ok?"

"He is demon-free," Zevran said.

"You're sure?" Quentin said.

"Quite positive. After he ran into the room, and you appeared and passed out, Wynne did some magic hand-waving and declared him to be safe."

"Good." Quentin looked at Fox, then back at Zevran. "You haven't been here waiting for me to wake up this whole time, have you?"

"Naturally not," Zevran scoffed, "I do not have the patience."

"Mm." Quentin smiled. "Come on, let's go find the others," he said, setting off down the hall, "I want to see Connor with my own eyes, just to be sure."

"You do not trust my word? I am affronted," Zevran said, mock-serious.

"I thought you said never to trust an Antivan," Quentin shot back, grinning.

"Did I say that? Perhaps I should have said to never trust a Fereldan, it seems more accurate."

"How about Orlesians?" Quentin said, and Fox laughed.

"They are not bad people." Zevran glanced at Fox. "At least, not bad looking," he said with a sly grin. 

* * *

Later that night, Quentin walked down the hall, stifling a yawn. Despite having slept for most of the afternoon, he was still exhausted. But then, it had been a long and somewhat bizarre day, and fighting a small army of undead was really the least surprising part.  _I hope Jowan will be ok_. The Circle wasn't known to be kind to escaped mages, and while Jowan had insisted on finally facing judgement after running away for so long, Quentin wasn't sure _he'd_ made the right decision in letting Jowan be taken. _Well, there's nothing you can do about it now._

He turned the corner into the guest wing, approaching the small array of doors. As he neared his room, a door opened, and Fox slipped out. He paused when he saw Quentin, then grinned. "Hey, Quentin."

"Hey, Fox." Quentin turned to his door, and as he opened it, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Fox opened the door to Zevran's room, and disappeared inside. Quentin smirked.  _Of course._

And that was one of the most surprising things, he thought. Not Fox and Zevran―one of the first things out of Zevran's mouth after Zevran had tried to _assassinate_ Quentinwas flirting, and while Quentin wasn't really into things sexual _or_ romantic, he could tell that Fox was much like Zevran in that way.

No, the most surprising part was Fox himself. Who'd have thought that after losing so many Wardens at Ostagar, they'd end up running into another Warden, and one from _Orlais_ no less? Quentin tossed his travelling pouch on a small table, and sat on the bed. The odds had to have been impossibly stacked against them for them to be even in the same _area_ , let alone to meet. But then, the same could be said for most of his companions.

_All things considered,_ he thought, _stranger things have happened._

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 24/03/16: this piece now has an epilogue here: [[x]](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6342169)


End file.
